


Home I'll Never Be

by Silex



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Braska's Pilgrimage, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Silex
Summary: Auron was suspicious of Jecht from the start. The man was a drunkard and a braggart and the stories he told were impossible. Yet there was something about those stories.





	Home I'll Never Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/gifts).



> Title comes from a line in a song I like because I'm not very good at coming up with titles.

Braska was too softhearted in Auron’s opinion, bordering on soft-headed at times, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, even when the Summoner stopped to listen to the drunkard’s raving about Zanarkand. If he’d been able to convince himself that it was Sin’s toxin that had addled the man’s brain he would have been able to muster some sympathy himself, but the man reeked like a distillery.

“What a coincidence,” Braska had said with a smile, “We’re heading that way ourselves.”

The man’s expression softened for a moment, hope shining in his eyes, then hardened into one of determination, “I’m coming with you.”

A statement, not a question, and the drunkard stumbled after them, following them to the inn where they’d decided to stay. Braska had wanted to spend a day in the city of Luca, seeing the sights and the people and Auron could respect that at least. The Braska was going to give his life for these people, this world, so he had a right to get the chance to appreciate it, for them to appreciate him. The people would see him and think of him and it was a thought that made Auron’s heart swell with pride. He was willing to admit that the way people treated him as a Guardian was enjoyable and he rather liked sharing the spotlight with Braska, right until the drunkard came along. It was, he would decide when he had the chance to look back on things, jealousy that made him dislike the drunkard so much, not that there weren’t plenty of other reasons.

When the innkeeper came over to tell the drunkard to quiet down and leave the Summoner alone Auron had let out a silent sigh of relief.

“This man is my Guardian,” Braska said sternly, more so than Auron had ever heard him. He wasn’t looking at the innkeeper either, he was staring straight at Auron, daring him to say something, “He’s going to take me to Zanarkand.”

The man laughed, “That’s right! Because no one else here’s ever been there. He needs someone who can show him around.”

Auron kept his peace, if his friend wanted to entertain the ramblings of a drunkard so be it. It wasn’t as though he’d be able to keep up with them for long. Auron set a hard pace when he traveled and Braska, though he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get to their destination, was determined to spend as little time on the road as possible.

The roads were dangerous and while Auron and Braska were more than capable of taking care of themselves lingering for any longer than necessary was asking for trouble.

As the night wore on talk turned to Blitzball, which the man had apparently played.

At that revelation Auron hadn’t been able to hold back a snigger. The idea of the man being able to swim without drowning, let alone manage the coordination to catch a ball while doing so was laughable.

Braska was barely able to stop the fight, promising that he believed and would love to see a demonstration when they had the time, and maybe he could even teach him a few simple tricks.

That mollified the drunkard and he resumed his rambling stories.

He talked mostly about himself, but also about a wife who was probably sick with worry about him, and a son who he was sure would never grow up to be a man.

Auron thought it was more likely that the woman was glad to be rid of him and that the son in question would grow up better for his father’s absence. Braska listened though, talking about Yuna, his daughter who meant the world to him, how he wanted her to grow up safe and without fear.

The drunkard nodded agreeable, mentioning that sometimes he wished that he’d had a girl instead, that a daughter wouldn’t embarrass him so badly.

The whole time Auron struggled to keep his temper, wishing that he could walk out of the grueling conversation, but he couldn’t leave his friend, the Summoner, alone with a drunkard. The man was dangerous, Auron could see it by the look in his eyes. If not for what he’d done to himself he might have been a warrior once.

Or even a Blitzball player like he said.

By the end of the night, they knew the man’s name, Jecht, and too many other things about him for Auron’s liking.

The next day he awoke bright and early, as was his manner, and woke Braska up with the suggestion that they might want to watch the sunrise before heading out. His plan had been to leave the drunkard, Jecht, behind.

“A little walk before breakfast sounds like a plan,” a slurred voice agreed.

So they ended up watching the sunrise together, him, Braska and Jecht.

It would have been peaceful if not for Jecht talking about watching the sunrise from his house, a little place on the outskirts of the city because in the morning he liked to head out on his boat.

“That’s how I ended up here,” he swept his arm at the port and city around them, “Got caught up in a storm when I was practicing.”

Auron hoped that when they left the city Jecht would give up, but he didn’t.

“How far to Zanarkand?” Jecht wondered, something that would become his constant refrain in the days and weeks that followed.

Even when he finally swore off drinking and sobered up after the incident along the Moonflow he would ask.

“There’s still a long way to go,” Braska responded the same way each time even as they drew nearer, as though it were part of a ritual, the look in his eyes making it clear that Auron wasn’t to say anything.

And he didn’t.

Not simply because it was what his friend wanted, but because as foolish as it was, he was fascinated by Jecht’s stories of Zanarkand as a bustling metropolis, larger than even Bevelle, full of lights and machines, sound and life.

After all, the ruins had to have been a living city once and there was no proving Jecht’s stories about it wrong. They may very well have played Blitzball the same as people did now, had families and jobs and lived the same as anyone.

Except they’d done something to bring the wrath of Yevon upon them, something that humanity continued to pay for to this day. Zanarkand must have been especially wicked to have been destroyed so thoroughly that all that remained were ruins and crumbling constructs and stories.

Stories that everyone knew.

Except for Jecht.

There were so many things he was ignorant of and somehow that added credence to his tales about the ruined city as something other than a crumbling hecatomb.

It was as good a place as any to make up stories about and the opulence Jecht described did sound like a target for divine anger.

Or envy if the lights really did shine night and day, blocking out the stars, filling the sky with sunset colors, if there was music and laughter and wonder around every corner.

Jecht’s Zanarkand was a beautiful place, one that Braska was eager to visit, far better than the one that he and Auron knew, where the final Aeon would be granted and Braska would make the ultimate sacrifice for the rest of the world to have a few safe, peaceful years.

The Zanarkand Jecht spoke of was a worldly paradise, no need, no fear, the greatest worry being a disappointing son who would never grow to be a man without a father to show him how.

It was a place that Auron could relate to, orphaned by Sin, never knowing his family, raised at the temple. What else could he aspire to be other than a Guardian and what else could he do but fill his dreams with an imagined family? He grew up imagining that he would someday be adored for saving others from the same fate, even if only for a short time.

Was it really such a leap to build a whole city out of dreams?

And when he saw Jecht’s expression grow troubled when they passed ruins along the roads they traveled, noticed the way he frowned at all the places that he’d never heard of, the things he’d never encountered, Auron forced himself to smile.

“Tell me about the lights and the Blitzball stadium,” he said, “What was it like to step out and have all those people cheering for you?”

Jecht would then put an arm over his shoulder, too friendly, and pat him on the back too hard, “Not just cheering, they’d be chanting my name, Jecht, Jecht, Jecht!”

Auron bristled and listened and wondered.

And there were times, looking out over the horizon, knowing what lay ahead, he could almost see the lights and hear the roar of a city full of people.

Jecht’s Zanarkand was a beautiful place, the kind he wished he could imagine for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the fandom that really got me into writing fanfiction with the intent to post it where it would actually be red. There were so many questions the game left me with, so many little blanks to fill and character interactions that must have happened to think about. I should probably write more for it.


End file.
